


Most Affectionately and Faithfully Yours

by churchkey



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: D-Day, Episode: s01e02 Day of Days, M/M, Mutual Pining, a lot of first person POV, guys hiding their feelings, vague references to sex, writing letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchkey/pseuds/churchkey
Summary: I’m definitely not going to give this letter to you so I may as well admit that whenever I think about you I catch myself smiling but only after it’s too late and I’m sure everyone who sees me wonders what the hell I’m smiling about and since I think about you almost constantly, I’m basically always walking around with this stupid grin on my face and I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard for anyone with eyes and half a brain to figure out why.__Written for the Heavy Artillery D-Day Prompt fest. Prompt:Winters/Nixon, Letters written the night before
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54
Collections: Heavy Artillery D-Day Comment Fest 2020





	Most Affectionately and Faithfully Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Falling in love and jumping out of planes and hiding their true feelings. In other words, peak Winnix. 
> 
> I've borrowed Nix's kid from series canon. See end notes for the story behind his letter to the gas company.

Lt. Lewis Nixon  
32065765 Co. E 506th PIR  
APO #55  
C/O Postmaster, New York, NY

June 5th, 1944

Jersey Central Power and Light  
1345 Old Bridge-Englishtown Rd  
Old Bridge, NJ 08857

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Lewis Nixon and I have been a loyal customer of Jersey Central Power and Light for many years, I suppose, though to be perfectly honest with you, Sir/Madam, I’ve never really given much thought to bills or the requisite paying thereof, as my custom has been simply to hand them off to my father’s executive secretary, who, I imagine, keeps meticulous records of this sort of thing, and as I have far more faith in her than I have in both of my parents, the U.S. Army, and Roosevelt combined, I can only assume that I have never been delinquent in a payment. 

I am writing to you, dear Sir/Madam, because I have recently received a fourth billing notice reminding me of a balance due on a residence where I have not lived for more than two years. Here’s the thing, Sir/Madam - actually, would it be alright if I called you Elizabeth? I’d like to think that after so many exchanges such as this one, feelings of a more tender nature might have developed between us, and I prefer to imagine the person on the receiving end of this affection as an attractive woman, a blush of vibrance hanging about her dewy face like an intoxicating mist of this year’s perfume. 

As I was saying, Elizabeth, the thing is, I’m currently employed overseas, and as things are soon to become considerably more hectic on my end, there is very little I can do to resolve this discrepancy in the timely manner you so politely requested. I refer you - again - to my wife, Katharine Nixon, who should have contacted you long ago to place the account in her name. Obviously, this has not happened. 

Though it would perhaps serve as a more effective reminder to take care of this matter than I am capable of providing to her, I entreat you, dear Betty (I see you as a doe-eyed young thing, all pin curls and bright lipstick, your ankles crossed daintily as you sit at your typewriter writing past due invoices to lonely soldiers like me, and have thus decided that ‘Elizabeth’ is just too matronly for you. If you’d like to imagine what I look like, picture the debonair grace of Cary Grant combined with the effortless masculinity of Dana Andrews and the ribald charm of Clark Gable, and you’ve got the basic idea) - please do not to shut off the gas. 

Normally I wouldn’t care, but I’ve got a kid at home who can’t fall asleep without a cup of warm milk, and I know we’re all making sacrifices right now, but to deny a child her nightcap just seems unnecessarily cruel.

Can we be honest with each other, Betty? The unfortunate truth is that I don’t receive much in the way of personal correspondence over here and I appreciate your repeated attempts to engage my attention more than you can possibly know. I can only assume they are meant to help a fellow feel a little less homesick and a little more committed to the very way of life he’s fighting to preserve. A lot gets written about the USO and people who volunteer their time to sell war bonds or organize scrap metal drives, but you, my darling Betty, are one of the true unsung heroes of this war and I thank you from the bottom of my Government Issue heart for reminding me that somewhere on this planet, life does indeed carry on as usual, utterly oblivious to the raging inferno consuming the rest of it.

I sincerely hope that you will have no need to write to me again, but I must admit that I will miss these letters. You are welcome to keep writing, if you wish. Better yet, send whiskey. I look forward to hearing from you, whether that be a letter pledging your passionate and everlasting devotion to me, or the final notice informing me that the gas has been shut off permanently. Until then, I am, my dearest Betty, 

Most affectionately and faithfully yours,

Lewis Nixon III

***

_June 5, 1944_

_Dear DeEtta,_

_Hello from somewhere (still) in England; very soon it will be somewhere in France, though that’s about as specific as I can get. I’m sure you’ll have read all about it in the papers by the time this reaches you. As I write this, I’m sitting in my tent just trying to steal a few moments of quiet to gather my thoughts before I have to become 1st platoon’s steady, cool-headed leader once again._

_I’m thinking about something you asked in your last letter, if it’s really sunk in that this invasion is going to go off and that my war is shortly to begin. It hadn’t then and it still hasn’t now, not really. Sometimes I get to feeling nervous and jittery, and then an odd sense of calm will wash over me and it’ll seem like I’m watching all of this from a great distance. Perhaps I’ll be good and scared when we finally jump, but right now I mostly just feel excited._

_When I think about everything that has to go just right for all of this to work, let alone for me to survive it, I just want to get the show on the road. Jumping in training was a thrill, once you got over the fear of breaking your legs. But the idea of jumping into combat, with the flak and tracers zipping all around me, getting safely to the ground and then the assembly area without getting shot, gathering my men and receiving our first orders, well… Being surrounded by all those constant threats of death, I imagine that I will feel more alive than I ever have in my life, and I suppose that’s the part I’m excited about._

_Does that surprise you? When I told Nix how I felt, he said he wasn’t surprised at all. I don’t think he meant it as a compliment. He said that I_

A triangle of weak light sliced across the dirt floor as the tent flap was pulled back and Nix’s silhouette appeared in the gap. 

“Writing to your girl?” His sardonic voice carried echoes of a schoolyard taunt.

“She’s not my girl,” Dick said robotically, like he was a machine programmed to give the same response every time that particular button was pressed.

Nix laughed. “Bullshit she’s not.”

Dick looked up from his letter and watched as Nix settled his body onto his cot in a languid sprawl. He lit a cigarette. Dick went back to writing. 

“Haven’t you got any letters to write?” 

Nix lazily dropped his head back and blew a cloud of smoke up into the dark corners of the canvas ceiling. “Nothing that can’t wait.” 

Dick didn’t respond, other than to shake his head and smile faintly.

“If she’s not your girl, then what is she?” 

Dick hummed thoughtfully and continued his letter.

“She’s someone I can say things to that I can’t say to my folks,” he said after a moment. “Someone who understands me.”

Nix frowned, nodding slowly in a parody of serious contemplation. 

“I don’t know what you’d call that,” Dick continued. “I suppose maybe a best friend.” 

Nix arched his eyebrows and took one last, long drag off his cigarette. “Well,” he said, dropping the butt in the dirt and grinding it out with his boot, “why don’t you wrap it up with your best friend and put that pen down for a while.”

Dick smirked. “Why?”

In his periphery, he could see Nix leaning back on one elbow and sliding his other hand down the inside of his thigh, spreading his thumb and index finger wide along the join of his crotch and hip. 

“‘Cause I’ve got something else for you to hold.”

Dick looked up and turned his head. Nix’s eyes gleamed bold and wet in the dim light of the camp lantern. 

_I guess that’s all for now, DeEtta. I’ll write again as soon as I can. Pray for us._

_Your Favorite Paratrooper,  
Dick_

***

_Dear Nix,_

_Well that sure was something. I know you meant for it to relax me and clear my head, help me focus on tonight, and I have to admit that physically, I’m feeling pretty great. It’s like after a long run, that pleasant ache in my legs and chest, my muscles all warm and sort of humming. But I don’t think I’ve had a clear head since the day we met._

_I’m definitely not going to give this letter to you so I may as well admit that whenever I think about you I catch myself smiling but only after it’s too late and I’m sure everyone who sees me wonders what the hell I’m smiling about and since I think about you almost constantly, I’m basically always walking around with this stupid grin on my face and I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard for anyone with eyes and half a brain to figure out why. And since you’re about the smartest person I’ve ever known, I’m sure you’ve figured out why too._

_When I was writing to DeEtta earlier, I was trying to explain how I’m feeling right now, but I was only telling her half the truth. I am excited, but not because of some secret thrill-seeking death wish buried deep inside me. It’s much simpler than that. I’m excited to be doing all this with you._

_Sometimes I wonder what it’s like for the married guys (not you), or guys like Harry, who know that the one they love most in the world is so far away and they may never see her again, and even if they do, she’ll never really understand what all this was like. It will be something they’ll never be able to share and I suppose I feel sort of bad for them because I’ve got you here with me, and you will understand and it’ll be something we’ll always share. We’re doing this together._

_When I was in college (feels like a hundred years ago now), the Ink Spots came to Hershey and I went to see them. They sing one of my favorite songs, you probably know it._

I don’t want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart. 

_Well, the world’s already on fire. What are two more hearts? Mine burns for you, Nix._

_There. I’ve said it. So now I guess I’ll get rid of this. I thought about dropping it in a latrine but I just can’t stand the idea of guys literally shitting all over my deepest, most secret feelings for you. I think I’ll burn it instead. That seems more appropriate, don’t you think?_

***

The airfield felt even more chaotic than the night before, even though everyone had taken up the exact same positions. Men milled around their assigned C-47s, some catching a last few moments of rest in the shadow of their wings, and Dick was again struck by the scope of what he was about to undertake, the sheer magnitude of the operation of which he was just one small part. With everyone all present and assembled, it all looked so much bigger than he’d ever realized, and he was filled with a sudden confidence in the dominance of the AEF. In that moment, the war seemed theirs to lose, and Dick was ready for it. 

There was just one thing he had to do first. 

He must have asked half a dozen officers before finding one who could point him in the direction of the HQ company plane. As he approached, he scanned the faces of the men standing around, beginning to pack up, and felt his heart begin to beat faster. What if he couldn’t find him? Everyone looked the same all loaded down under the weight of all that equipment, their faces unrecognizable under dark smears of burned cork. But then he saw him walking toward the plane’s open hatch, saw the slouched shoulders, the heavy, slightly duck-footed gait, and exhaled in relief. Dick caught up with him, startling him so much he nearly dropped the map he was carrying. 

“Oh shit,” Nix said, laughing awkwardly. “I didn’t even recognize you.” 

Dick’s face stretched in a half smile. “I just wanted to see you before we take off. Wish you good luck and everything.” 

Nix smiled back at him, his eyes sweeping slowly down the length of Dick’s body, buried beneath 125 pounds of gear. 

“Hey, let me take a look at that helmet.”

Dick scrunched his brow, narrowed one eye in skepticism, but it was mainly for show and he quickly complied with the request, removing his helmet and handing it over to Nix. He held it up, pretending to examine it carefully, then pulled an envelope from his pants pocket and tucked it into the lining. He gave the helmet back to Dick. 

“Congratulations, you passed inspection.”

Dick put his helmet back on and fastened the chin strap. “Can I read it now or do you want me to wait?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nix said coolly. “Just don’t pass it around your stick.”

“I’ll remember that,” Dick said. “I’ve got one for you too.” 

He reached into the left breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved a piece of paper, folded many times into a small square. He held it out to Nix, who just looked at it a moment, smiling cautiously, before taking it from him and slipping it quickly into the same pocket he’d pulled Dick’s letter from. They were quiet for a moment, neither really knowing what to say. 

“First platoon all ready?” Nix asked. 

“Yeah,” Dick said, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I should probably get back to them, see if they need any help packing up.”

He held out his hand to Nix. “Well, good luck.”

“Yeah,” Nix said, taking his hand. “You too.”

They shook hands, gave each other one last reassuring smile, and then Dick turned and walked back toward his plane. 

***

_05 Jun 1944_

_Dear Dick,_

_I thought I’d add my own little dispatch to the gripping communiques you’ll be handing out later, like you need another one of those. This is not an “in case I don’t make it” letter, as I fully intend to make it. And since you will too, and since between you and me, this whole “Berlin by Christmas” thing is goddamn ludicrous, I think you and I will be spending a lot of time together and you should probably know what you’re getting yourself into, so here it is._

_First of all, though I’d like to think of myself as a fundamentally decent person, I am very lazy about actually committing myself to the practice of being one, and more often than not, lapse into my default state of selfishness and narcissism, which you’ve been witness to many times. When you see me doing this, please just give me a good kick and tell me to stop being such an asshole. I might argue with you, but you will be in the right and I in the wrong, and I will know this and eventually admit it, though it may take a day or two._

_Second, I have never in my adult life managed to stay faithful to any woman, regardless of how tolerable I found her company or how little the sound of her voice grated at my nerves. I think when they were handing out the monogamy gene I got passed over. As my engagements with them have never been what you’d call a relationship, I can’t say whether the same holds true for men. I hope someday to find out._

_Third, once when I was a boy, probably around six or seven, I took a bird’s nest out of the tree in our backyard right next to the kitchen window, which my mother liked to gaze out of with a look of distant misery on her face while she chain-smoked away the afternoon (this was before the divorce), and snuck it into my bedroom. I wanted a front row seat to watch the eggs hatch. Well, the eggs never hatched, of course, and my mother, the highlight of whose day had been observing the progress of this bird family, was furious. She made my father spank me when he got home from work, which deeply offended me because I felt I was much too old for corporal punishment. Afterwards, I cried for hours as it sunk in that the birds were dead and it was my fault. I still feel awful when I think of it today, some twenty years later. This one’s not really a character flaw, just a thing I did that I am not proud of and I thought you should know._

_This is by no means an exhaustive list of my shortcomings, just some highlights. Sometimes I catch myself wondering why the hell you put up with me, but then I remember that you’re no saint either. You and your stubborn conviction that nearly every other officer in the army is a moron except for you; your rigid certainty in the superiority of your virtues; your tendency to shun me when you’re mad (which I'm not saying I don't deserve), and keep it up for days sometimes, until suddenly you decide you're over it and you'll talk to me again and everything's fine. Let’s be honest, how many people do you know who would willingly put up with all of that? I’d bet my jump pay it’s a short list._

_But let’s get back to me and the many qualities I do have to recommend myself. I’m very good at whistling, for one, and I’m not a half-bad singer either, though nowhere near as good as you and I can’t read music to save my life. While I can’t cook and don’t intend to learn, I’m very handy with a can opener and - I think you'll agree with this one - I can brew a damn fine cup of coffee. Most importantly, despite the faults enumerated above, I’m aces at being smitten with you, Dick Winters. In fact, I think the job may have been designed specifically with me in mind._

_If you find any of this too shocking to countenance, understand that I’ve had a bit to drink this afternoon (don’t worry, I’ll be fine for tonight) and cannot be held completely responsible for what I say in this condition. And you know how often I am in this condition. Which means you’re either going to have to ignore a hell of a lot or get used to the idea because either way, you’re stuck with me._

_I’ll find you over there. Until then, I am, my dearest Lieutenant,_

_Most imperfectly and drunkenly (whether you want me or not)_  
_Yours,  
Nix_

  
_***_

_Nix,_

_I just wanted to correct the record about something. I misspoke earlier when I told you that DeEtta is my best friend; she isn’t. You are. You’re someone I can say things to and I’m pretty sure you understand me better than anyone here, maybe anyone I’ve ever known. I’m glad I met you and that we’re doing this together. I can’t think of anyone else whose company I’d rather have as we march across Europe and put our boots up some Nazi asses. I’ll take Goebbels; you can have Hitler._

_See you soon, pal._

_Dick_

**Author's Note:**

> So my grandpa served in the 13th Armored Division during the war and one time after surviving a couple days of pretty heavy action, he was very happy to hear that there had been a mail drop and even happier to learn there was something for him in it and then it turned out to be a letter from the insurance company informing him that the premium on his car insurance had not been paid. How it found him in the Ruhr Pocket he never did figure out.


End file.
